


Defensive Adaptation

by zenstrike



Series: Defensive Adaptation [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, the xmen au nobody wanted, x-men/school for gifted children au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 16:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15076706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenstrike/pseuds/zenstrike
Summary: He is seventeen, and the heat under his skin grows every day. It takes meditation with Shiro, and practice with Allura, to get control of it—but that control is tenuous; it tests his already fragile patience.





	Defensive Adaptation

“New arrivals,” Pidge mutters when Keith joins her at the window. They press their noses to the glass, shoulder-to-shoulder with Pidge floating just off the ground.

Below is a group of people. This isn’t uncommon, not these days. A lot of students come bearing their gifts and homesickness, with their parents and siblings crowded around them. Keith can only see the back of Shiro’s head but he knows his brother is smiling, spreading his flesh arm in a gesture of welcome. He has a speech, practiced and prepared, but he always sounds so natural.

Crowd of family or no, Keith can always pick out the incoming student: a boy, lanky and tall, brown hair. A girl a few years older than Keith has her arm around him, her head resting against his while the parents talk to Shiro. The boy is smiling but stands so still he doesn’t seem to be moving.

Keith can see the blue of his eyes from here.

Pidge drops to the ground with a muted _oof_.

“Fresh blood,” she says with a grin. Keith rolls his eyes.

They duck away from the window before they’re caught.

* * *

 

Lance is at the School for a while before Keith learns what his gifts are. It isn’t that Lance is quiet. Other students flock to him in droves, drawn to his energy and humour and loud voice. When he’s in a room, Keith can’t help but look to him even if it makes his lips curl and his blood pressure rise.

Lance just—doesn’t say.

Keith tries to ask Shiro one day. Shiro tells him to go to bed, and stop thinking about it.

Clearly, it isn’t any of Keith’s business. It might be something embarrassing, like webbed feet or—well, Keith can’t think of much.

He tries to let it go, but Lance is competitive and loud and has his eye on Keith for whatever reason.

“You want to _what_?” Keith says, four months after Lance’s arrival. Since then, Lance has adopted one brother—Hunk, who sheepishly waves at Keith—and one sister—“Fuck off,” Pidge says—and one rival (that’s Keith).

Lance tilts his chin and sets his fists on his hips and stares right at Keith. Like a challenging dog.

“Race you,” he repeats. “We’re going to race, and I’m going to leave that mullet in the dust.”

“That’s a bad idea,” Hunk says, but he sounds defeated.

“Do you know who I am?” Keith asks, perfectly aware of how douchey he sounds.

“You’re Douchey McMulletface,” Lance replies, and flips him the bird.

“Don’t do it, Keith,” Pidge yawns behind him. She’s settled in the grass anyways, a tablet propped on her knees. Like she knows how this is going to go.

Keith laps Lance three times. Lance, for his part, doesn’t give up.

Maybe that’s his “gift:” sheer, irritating tenacity.

* * *

Those are sunny days.

Kids stop showing up surrounded by family.

They start showing up looking a little bit more like Keith.

* * *

 

As the election unfolds, Keith and Pidge huddle together in front of the television. The faculty hover in the lounge, watching as well, and Shiro is a welcoming presence the younger students cling to.

“This isn’t good,” Lance says to Keith’s left.

Hunk manages to keep from crying until the little ones have gone to bed, then he puts his head on Lance’s shoulder.

Momentarily, he forgets his own strength and almost crushes Lance’s hand.

* * *

 

Their gifts are called mutations for a reason. Keith starts melting things with his touch: a plate, a pint of ice cream, Pidge’s hard drive and the keys of her keyboard.

“Yikes,” Lance says, hovering over his shoulder while Keith backs away from a ruined door handle.

It’s harder to control when Lance is around.

* * *

“What’s going to happen?” Keith asks, sitting cross-legged on Shiro’s bed.

Shiro is pacing. He reminds Keith of the tension when they both carried when they first came to the School: Shiro, steady but broken; Keith, small and lightning-quick. This was supposed to be their haven.

“I don’t know,” Shiro says eventually.

Keith folds his arms. “Too many people know.”

Shiro pauses in his pacing and looks at Keith carefully, hesitatingly. It makes Keith’s skin crawl with panic because he knows the disappointment Shiro is hiding. He looks away.

“We can’t regret kindness,” Shiro reminds him.

Keith thinks of Lance’s family surrounding him the day he came to the School. He tries to imagine what Coran’s conversation with them had looked like, what he had offered them (security, safety, and an education for their gifted son) the day he had found Lance.

* * *

Whatever Shiro says, whatever Coran believes, whatever Allura preaches, the School’s doors are a little narrower after the election.

They are only one of many in danger.

* * *

 

Keith learns about Lance’s gift on a night that was supposed to be cloudless.

He is seventeen, and the heat under his skin grows every day. It takes meditation with Shiro, and practice with Allura, to get control of it—but that control is tenuous, it tests his already fragile patience.

He runs to feel himself move and pretends that he can sweat the heat away, that he can forget the fences that hold them in and keep others out.

He finds Lance in the middle of his usual path, looking straight up.

“What are you doing?” Keith asks. Dust stirs around his feet as he skids to a stop.

Lance looks down at him. “Nothing,” he says with a shrug. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Looking at the stars.”

They are quiet for a time.

“You should be in bed,” Keith says eventually.

Lance’s lips quirk. “Maybe.” He looks back up.

Keith does, too, and he starts when he sees the clouds forming like smoke in the moonlight. “Huh,” he says.

“Do you ever get homesick?” Lance asks. He sounds reluctant, maybe irritated—like he didn’t want to ask but here he is anyways.

When Keith looks at him again, Lance’s eyes seem to be glowing blue in the darkness. There is nothing but moonlight between them. The heat in Keith’s blood stirs. His head swims.

(“The headaches will ease when you have control,” Allura had promised, brushing a cool touch to his forehead.)

“This is my home,” Keith replies. He doesn’t mean anything malicious, or cruel, or insensitive, but there’s a crumpling over Lance’s face all the same.

Lance stares at his feet.

Keith hears thunder from far away.

“You should go inside,” Lance sighs. “It’s going to rain.”

Keith blinks. “Lance,” he tries, and falters. He shakes his head. “Lance, have you...have you called home?”

Lance shrugs again. He’s still staring straight down. “I’m not sure I should, you know?”

(“Raids,” Pidge had hissed at the television. “Like we’re hiding something just by existing.”

“We are hiding,” Lance had said flatly from the couch.

Keith had stayed quiet, uncertain that his voice could do much.)

“What if someone’s listening?” Lance rubs his upper arms. Keith can see goosebumps rising along his skin. “People were suspicious, you know. Before I left. My mom got all kinds of crap after my dad died, and then…”

He trails off.

“Lance,” Keith says as thunder rumbles. “Are you okay?”

“Probably,” Lance replies, and the rain falls in a sudden sheet. It soaks Keith to the skin, making steam rise as his blood boils, and boils, and boils.

Lance is shaking, and Keith knows all about that, so he ignores the lightning flashing overhead and pulls Lance against him and Lance cries into his neck.

“Everyone’s afraid,” Keith says, and he shouts to be heard over the storm. “We’ll manage.”

Coran finds them just as the storm starts to settle and the rain becomes drizzle. Lance doesn’t lift his head from Keith’s shoulder until Coran calls their names.

Coran looks at them.

“Time for bed,” he says. He sounds tired.

* * *

 

“Allura stayed,” Keith says, slouched in his seat with his arms crossed. He looks at the point on Coran’s desk right in front of him. “I’ll stay, too.”

He doesn’t need to look up to see Coran and Shiro glance at each other.

“Keith,” Shiro says, slowly. He drags out Keith’s sole syllable like he can buy himself time.

“I have a year left,” Keith says, and stands. The chair skids against the ground. “I’ll decide in a year.”

He leaves the office. He finds Hunk down the hall, pressed against a window that is Pidge’s usual haunt. He is alone: Pidge’s brother has come to visit, showing off his healing factor in a dazzling display self-inflicted violence, and Hunk is squeamish.

Hunk smiles as Keith stands next to him.

Allura pulls a young girl from the back of the car and holds her tight. The girl is crying. She is maybe five, or six.

“She’s so young,” Hunk whispers. “By herself? Really?”

Allura and the little girl step out of sight so Keith and Hunk step away from the window.

* * *

“Don’t tell anyone,” is all Lance says when Keith finally corners him.

“Lance,” Keith starts. “Come on.”

Lance scowls. “Forget about it, okay? I have!”

He starts to storm away but Keith catches his arm.

Keith’s mouth is dry. His heart is pounding. Then, he realizes too late what he’s done and he lets go, lifting his hands in surrender.

“Sorry,” he says, immediately looking for his handprint, burned like a brand onto Lance’s skin. “I didn’t—“

There’s nothing.

Lance coughs. “I run cool,” he admits, then flashes a shaky version of his usual grin. “The coolest.”

Keith stares. “How did I not know this?” he manages out, and gestures in a swirling motion to the sky above. “How did I not know any of this?”

Lance shrugs. “I’m very mysterious.” He studies Keith. “I’m serious. Don’t tell anyone. People know about the cold thing but—not the other thing.”

“Why?” Keith blurts as his mind flashes through a million opportunities for Lance to have shown off.

“It’s kind of useless,” Lance says with a grimace. “You know what I mean?”

“No.”

* * *

 

Parents start taking their children from the School.

“I’m not going,” Pidge chants to herself. “I’m not going.”

“Well, yeah,” Keith mutters, and earns a glare. “Your parents know how much good the School’s done for your brother. There’s no way they’re taking you out.”

Pidge considers this. “This is the safest place in the whole world,” she says, and the tone of her voice tells Keith she is thinking about her parents.

“Yeah,” he agrees when he can’t think of anything better to say.

Pidge nudges his side and gives him a watery grin. “So, you and Lance. What’s going on?”

Keith frowns and can’t meet her eye. “I don’t know.”

And Pidge has the audacity to look kind of sad for him.

* * *

“I wish I could do something useful,” Lance sighs one night, hanging from a tree branch. He swings his legs once and lands in front of Keith.

Keith hunches into his sweater. He yawns. “What do you mean?”

“You know.” Lance waves a hand. “Something cool. Like...run really fast.”

Keith ignores the flash of Lance’s teeth.

Lance continues: “My ‘gift’ or whatever is rain showing up when I’m upset. Or emotional. Or whatever. Can’t do much with that.”

Keith glances up at the sky, just to see. “Well,” he mutters. “It’s a lot more than rain.”

Lance hums. “I guess I just have to figure out how to shoot lightning from the sky.” He tries to mimic the sound of lightning cracking the earth.

Keith smiles and reaches for Lance’s hand before he can think better of it.

Lance’s cool touch is a relief that seems to spread from their intertwined fingers all the way up Keith’s arm. His heartbeat steadies. Lance squeezes his hand.

“I gave a girl frostbite once,” Lance muses.

“Wow.”

* * *

Officially, the raids have stopped. The Anti-Mutant branch of the armed forces has been de-funded. The Supreme Court rules that private citizens, and their children, have a right to biological privacy.

Officially.

* * *

“What happens in the labs?” Keith tries to ask Shiro, but Shiro tells him to worry about finishing high school.

There are storms two nights in a row, and then Coran tells Keith that Lance needs a long’s night’s sleep and _not_ one of their midnight walks.

* * *

The air is spring-like: fresh, clear; it makes Pidge sneeze. Keith stares up at the ceiling for a long time and thinks about graduation, about managing in the “real world” as a “normal” adult; he thinks about Lance, and whether he’s been sleeping alright, and about how they haven’t had a chance to talk in days. Lance hasn’t even been in the room they share with Hunk: he sleeps downstairs where Coran can keep an eye on him, where Coran can see if the pills are keeping his whole psyche calm or—

Keith falls asleep.

It doesn’t last.

“Keith,” Hunk hisses in his ear, shaking him awake. “Keith!”

Keith groans. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Hunk says. His face shines with sweat. He grapples for words, his mouth gaping like a fish.

Keith sits up. “You’re feeling something?”

“A very bad something,” Hunk says and rubs at his temples, trying to wake up his intuition.

Their door bangs open and both squawk.

“Keith,” comes Shiro’s voice. Shiro peers around the door at them, pale-faced. “Hunk. Stay here. Get under your beds and don’t move.”

Keith climbs out of bed. “We can help. What about the kids?”

“You are the kids,” Shiro snaps. “Stay here.” He pauses. “Please.”

Hunk crumples to the floor as Shiro shuts the door.

“You’re right,” he says, absently and breathlessly. “The kids. We’ve got to keep an eye on them.”

Keith hoists him to his feet, and Hunk gets a minor burn. It’s all a bad sign. They dress quickly and step into the hall, both shaking.

“No sign of Shiro,” Keith whispers.

“Okay,” Hunk says. “Let’s just get to the kids’ wing and—“ He breaks off with a groan and clutches his middle. Keith catches him as he begins to topple and they bang against the wall. “This is bad, Keith. This is really bad.”

Thunder cracks overhead. Lightning flashes and lights up the hall. A girl screams a few doors down and someone hushes her.

“Lance,” Hunk moans. “Lance—Keith, his—“

“I know,” Keith snaps. “I _know_.”

* * *

 

Coran is bleeding and splayed on the floor but he’s breathing.

“Someone hit him,” Hunk whispers in Keith’s ear. “Where’s Lance?”

Coran groans. Keith pulls back his hands, his heart pounding. “I can’t touch him,” he mutters, half-hysterically. “I’ll burn him. Hunk, I can’t—“

“Where’s Lance?” Hunk scrubs a hand through his hair. “We should find Shiro, and Allura—“

Another, louder crack of thunder. Keith’s ears ring.

Lance, he thinks.

Coran’s eyes flutter. “Keith?” he manages.

“Coran!” Hunk throws himself down and pats at Coran’s cheek, awkward and desperate. “Coran, come on, what happened?”

The infirmary is completely smashed.

There were at least three other students here when Keith had left (had been shoo’d away before he could even say “good night”).

“Where’re the others?” he asks, blinking panic from his eyes. He looks back at Coran. “Where’s Lance?”

“It’s a raid,” Coran replies, like that wasn’t already obvious. “Lance said I didn’t have a gift. He tried—“

Coran’s eyes roll back until all Keith can see is white.

“Shit,” he hisses. “ _Shit._ ” He stands.

Hunk leans back on his heels and looks up at Keith. “They hit his head. He shouldn’t be doing that.” Hunk shivers. “Oh, he shouldn’t be—“

“Stay with him,” Keith cuts in. “See if he finds anything out and—and tell Shiro.”

“What? Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” Keith replies, and starts to run.

* * *

 

“You’re fast,” Shiro had said as they sat together. It had been Keith’s first bit of peace since arriving at the home, since he had been rejected by another set of would-be parents. Shiro had smiled. “And tough. Those are valuable gifts, Keith.”

And there had been something in his voice that had told Keith that Shiro wasn’t talking about the same sort of gifts his last foster mother had.

* * *

 

The beautiful, double, oak front doors are splintered and smashed, like someone took a battering ram to them. The whole mansion—the whole School—seems to be a mess, like a storm had torn through and set the whole of the student body screaming.

Outside, an actual storm rages.

Keith’s heart stops, just for a moment, and then he bursts into it. The wind and the rain lash at his eyes and face. Lightning flashes, thunder roars. The rain is sharp enough to sting but it steams away with the heat of his skin.

He squints through the deluge and spots dark, hunched shapes further ahead. He thinks he hears a gunshot from behind.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and then he runs.

It is the slowest he has run since he was a child. The wind pushes him back and his feet skid in the dirt and muck and torn up gravel, and he’s afraid that he’s making no progress until suddenly there is a dark back in front of him.

Keith barrels into the raider and he flies forward with a shout that’s drowned out in the storm. He doesn’t get back up, but trembles against the ground several meters in front.

A second raider raises his gun and a girl with blonde pigtails shrieks under his arm.

“Keith!” he hears her say, but doesn’t have time to wonder how she knows his name.

He grabs the barrel of the gun and it melts away in his hand, sliding from his skin. The raider shrieks and drops the girl. He shrieks, and shrieks, and crumples, clutching his skin as the melted metal cocoons it.

“Don’t look!” Keith yells when he remembers the girl. He points back towards the mansion, barely visible in the rain. “Run!”

She does, and Keith steps over the raider.

Beyond the front gates are a row of waiting, heavy black vehicles. No insignia, just headlights shining through the rain.

Keith darts forward and watches the limp body of one of the younger kids—in the infirmary for a headache that just wouldn’t stop; probably a telepath, but nobody can be sure, they’re so young, _so young_ —is tossed into a vehicle and out of sight. The fire in him flares impossible brighter.

And he sees Lance, kicking and flailing and rain-soaked, man-handled by two more raiders.

“Just—go—down!” one of the Raiders is yelling.

Lance’s eyes, bright and blue, find Keith. There are two gleaming darts in the side of his neck.

(“They do tests,” Hunk had said, flatly and like it was a fact. Like it was something he knew. Keith hadn’t pressed.

“Creepy,” Lance had muttered while squinting at his calculus homework.

“You have no idea,” Hunk had muttered and looked Keith right in the eye. “My mom saw—“)

Keith slams into a raider with a shout. He goes flying, shrieking as he crashes onto the road and skids, his legs spread comically. Keith whips around and gets a split-second view of a second raider, grappling with Lance, and then an arm tightens around his throat and the edges of his vision start to go black. He scrabbles behind him and his fingers catch skin that tries to jerk away but all he needs, really is a—

The raider shrieks in his ear and releases him, stumbling back. Keith glances at the blistering burns sliding along the man’s face and he hears shouting all around him as the raider reaches for his gun at his belt—

And he explodes in a shower of gore that spatters against Keith’s face, smelling of what can only be plasma and fire.

He gags and turns to watch the last raider release Lance and stumble back, gaping.

Then he’s running, and Keith’s left thinking: lightning struck.

He looks down at Lance. As Lance blinks, some of the eerie blueness of his eyes begins to melt away. The storm carries on.

* * *

 

After Lance tears the darts from his neck, they each take one of the unconscious children and begin the run back to the mansion without speaking. Keith hangs back as much as he can, his instincts saying to carry on. There are more than this, Keith knows; there are more waiting. He can feel them at his heels, a phantom presence at his back. The last raider will be telling anyone waiting behind, and then there will be the ones still in the School itself—

They shriek when they burst through the door and someone barrels out of the shadows in front of them.

“It’s me!” Shiro shouts. “It’s me.”

Keith and Lance drip, both panting. The boy over Lance’s shoulder groans.

“What happened?” Shiro asks, his hands still raised.

Keith tries not to think about how he looks.

“Stuff,” he replies flatly.

Shiro’s mouth twists. “Come on, we need to go.” He gestures for them to follow him and Keith lets Lance take the lead.

Past the kitchens (ruined, smashed, destroyed), Shiro slaps his flesh hand to a wall panel. There’s a hiss, and part of the wall slides away to reveal a gleaming passage.

“Go,” Shiro says when Keith opens his mouth to ask, and they dash through. Shiro follows a moment later, and the panel door slides shut behind them.

The hall is brightly lit and strangely silent. The air seems different. Still.

“What is this?” Lance asks.

“Plan B,” Shiro mutters, and slips around them.

They walk for a long time. Lance starts to stumble, like the cocktail of tranquilizers and Coran’s pills is finally taking effect or like the adrenaline is starting to fade. Shiro takes the boy from him and Lance leans heavily against the wall as they go.

Keith wants to ask if he’s alright, but his voice is gone.

They come to an elevator and the ride down is swift and makes Keith’s ears pop. When they come out, Coran and Allura run to meet them and a good chunk of the collected students stand.

It seems like almost everyone.

“Okay,” Lance says while Coran and Allura do a double-take at the sight of Keith. “What exactly _is_ Plan B?”

Keith rubs a hand over his face after Coran takes his charge. “It’s hiding,” he mumbles. “We’re going to hide.”

Nobody corrects him.

* * *

 

It’s hard to know if the storm is still raging on. What’s left of the School is huddled together in what’s basically a hangar. Shiro and Allura promise them all that, when they’re sure, they’ll open up the rest of the facility and try to salvage what they can from upstairs, but for now—

For now, they wait.

Keith hugs his knees and drapes a ruined towel over his head (ruined by blood, and guts, and a finger Lance pulled out of his hair with horror). Lance sits next to him, shivering and shaking.

As the hours tick by, Keith slips an arm around him and Lance sets his head on his shoulder with a groan, and Keith wonders for the first time exactly what their gifts are for.

(“If this is evolution,” Pidge had said once while they sat knee-to-knee and counted the passing, late-night hours. “What are we adapting for?”

“Who knows,” Keith had dismissed and listened to the crackling of the fireplace instead.)

“What have I done?” Lance groans into his shirt. He is cold all over, and Keith imagines sharing a little of his own fire.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was a ride to write. Thank you for reading.


End file.
